


Hotel Babylon

by kalena



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-16
Updated: 2009-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:24:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalena/pseuds/kalena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is why Casey went with Carina, and why he won't ever need to again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hotel Babylon

**Author's Note:**

> From the discussion on [](http://chuck-slash.livejournal.com/profile)[**chuck_slash**](http://chuck-slash.livejournal.com/) about Casey's subby streak.
> 
> Beta: My beloved [](http://jimpage363.livejournal.com/profile)[**jimpage363**](http://jimpage363.livejournal.com/) , with a special appearance by [](http://frackin-sweet.livejournal.com/profile)[**frackin_sweet**](http://frackin-sweet.livejournal.com/)

  
**Hotel Babylon**   


  
"Casey!" Low, but still audible inside the hotel room. Three sharp raps. "Casey!"

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. He'd been worried she'd call the General, but when Carina told him she was texting for someone to come pick him up, he expected Walker, not this. Not Chuck.

Fuck.

Okay, she got off on his humiliation more than the sex. The first time, she hopped on his dick and got herself happy, then used a strap-on to fuck him into nirvana. Maybe she thought that'd freak him out. Then she called the _Policie_ and made a bomb threat. What they found instead in the sleazy hotel was a bound, naked, wrung-out American businessman. Only his working knowledge of Czech prevented an international incident.

"Crazy _devka_ wanted more _penize_." Which he mispronounced, leaving the cops laughing about the whore who would've been happy with a bigger dick. He pretended he didn't understand.

The second time, she rode his face to three screaming orgasms before she dropped a chaste kiss on his shamrocked boxers and waved goodbye.

This time, she didn't bother with any of that. She just cuffed him to the brass bed, used his phone, and left.

It wasn't bad enough that he'd look like an idiot to the last living virgin in the universe – Jill didn't count, she was working. The real stinger would be seeing the hero worship crumble from Chuck's eyes. That was why, of course. Carina was a nasty bitch, but she wasn't stupid. She knew Chuck, what he was like, and she knew Casey liked him. He didn't know how she knew, but she obviously did.

The other two times were water under the bridge. But this? Pissed him the fuck off.

"Get in here, moron." There was just no other way to handle this. He looked bad enough already, caught with his pants down twice. Goddamn cunt.

He saw the tranquilizer gun first, inching into the room near floor level. How'd he get a key card? Chuck could get anybody to do anything for him. Casey felt a mentor's pride. Hell, how'd he get here so fast? He must've been driving on the friggin' sidewalks. Caution came first; he swept the suite before entering, checked the closets and the bathroom. Good man. He was getting better. Maybe he'd survive after all. He watched Chuck 's shoulders ease as he put the weapon on the desk and turned to Casey, who could only lie there like cheese on a cracker.

"Carina," Chuck said flatly. "That _bitch_."

Casey was so surprised to hear that come out of Chuck's mouth that for a second he thought he'd said it himself. "Are you going to stand there yapping, or are you going to hand me the fucking key?"

"Maybe."

Chuck wasn't stupid, either; Casey'd known that for a long time. But he'd never seen him so focused. It brought that innocent gaze to almost animal intensity. "What do you mean, maybe?" Chuck couldn't be thinking of leaving him here for the maids to find tomorrow. Shit. There was some kind of tension moving through his long frame that Casey didn't recognize. Chuck was walking toward him, more smoothly and subtly than his usual gangle.

Not walking. Stalking.

It made Casey's skin prickle. He was almost naked. He was too vulnerable. Chuck wouldn't . . . oh, hell, Casey could still kick the kid's ass, even with both hands cuffed above his head. It wasn't until he felt the black silk of his boxers go taut over his cock that he knew he was hard. Gunmetal hard.

"It depends on what you really want." Chuck's eyes were as gentle as his voice as he sat on the bed, but there was still that rising tension. Casey knew it for what it was when Chuck wrapped a warm hand around his hard-on. "We'll do whatever you want. I can give you whatever you need. I promise."

Earnest sincerity went well with the heat radiating off him and the warmth of his hand. Casey's body responded to both without hesitation. He couldn't hold back a huff of breath as his hips lifted. 'It's not . . . I don't . . . " It wasn't what? What he wanted couldn't be any more obvious. Blood burned his face, and he turned away as best he could.

"You can trust me."

It was true. Chuck would take care of him the way nobody else ever had, just because.

"I want you. Right here, cuffed to this bed. What do you want, John?"

On the rare occasion, his one-nighters called him whatever name he handed out. Carina used his name as a tease when it wasn't an outright taunt. From Chuck, it was the makings of a wet dream.

The timbre of Chuck's voice resonated through Casey's body, making stray molecules play pinball inside him. Somehow Chuck's presence meant safety. That was crazy all by itself. A hand on Casey's face anchored him; the fingers rubbing silk into his cock almost brought him off the bed. The light in Chuck's eyes held him suspended in between. He couldn't think. He just . . . answered. His voice wasn't working right. He didn't even know why he was telling the truth.

"Sometimes I need . . . to get away."

He was already halfway there.

"You want to be someplace else." A thumb slid across Casey's cheek, and he closed his eyes. "Yeah, I get that." There was a drop of acid burning underneath Chuck's words.

Yeah. Chuck might like to be on the other side of this equation. He might like it a lot.

Casey smiled up into those soft eyes, and Chuck kissed him. It was gentle and thorough, the tip of his tongue sliding between John's lips to tease sensitive spots. For once, John wished his hands were free, but . . . no. He shouldn't be fucking the asset, and if he was going to do it anyway, he needed to get it all.

"Do you like to watch, John?"

Wordless, he nodded. Fingertips slid away from his cheek, and he missed them. The hand on his cock left, too, and he missed that almost as much. Chuck undid his belt and fly and let his khakis drop. Whatever underwear he had on went with them. John watched avidly as a long, beautiful, left-curved hard-on appeared. He wondered if Chuck would let him taste it.

"God, I'm so hard for you. I can't believe I'm doing this, but I want it. Bad. You're so incredible. I've never seen anything so perfect."

Chuckspeak. He should have looked idiotic standing there with his shirt still on, that stupid tie, and no pants, but he didn't. He curled a fist around his cock and held it too tight, like he was trying to get himself under control. He pulled in a deep breath.

So did John.

Then, recovering, Chuck started to unbutton his shirt from the bottom, his cock stretching toward John between the plackets. He wanted to reach for it. Touch it. He couldn't. He could only lure Chuck in. The cuffs were solid, but he grasped the brass bar anyway, wanting at least to show off his definition. He tensed and relaxed, letting the muscles ripple along his torso. There was no way that could look accidental, or even casual, but he didn't care. John was nothing if not the male of the species.

"I had a dream the other night, you, you sucked me off," Chuck admitted in a rush. His eyes were big; John knew damned well he'd seen the show. A pink wash stained his chest. "You probably heard me. I came so hard in your mouth that I woke up covered in it. I almost drowned myself." An uncomfortable laugh trailed away.

"Yeah." John was still watching Chuck's every move. Every button, one by one. The dark treasure trail leading down to his cock. Every perfect new inch of bare skin as it ascended to the lightly furred chest. Chuck didn't walk around showing his skin. It was as if he needed all the shelter he could get. This was different, John knew, far different from any ordinary fuck, even given what he liked.

Finally the tie swung loose and slithered away. Chuck toed his shoes off and didn't look down. He was staring at John. The shirt caught air and puffed like a parachute on its way to the floor. The late afternoon sun lit up Chuck's lean body from behind, glowed around him like he was some kind of lost alien come to earth. It couldn't be too far from the truth.

"I thought . . . I was asleep on my desk," John said quietly. "You woke me up, too." He felt like he was dreaming now, the two experiences twisting together, as if Chuck's cries in John's sleep were a natural prelude to what was happening. Chuck dreamed about him. About them. "Are you gonna do that? Put your cock in my mouth?"

Chuck swallowed, his Adam's apple working visibly, and said, "Yeah. Yeah, I am. And you can't do a damned thing about it."

"That's right." He pulled himself up as far up against the brass rails as his arms would allow, but no fast moves. _Come closer_. Kneeling over his lap, Chuck pressed his perfect mouth over John's like he was desperate for reassurance. John gave all he could. He gave a lot more when Chuck's cock pushed his lips apart. There was nothing fancy about the way he sucked him down. He did his level best to vacuum the orgasm out of him.

Chuck needed to relax. He was shaking all over.

The taste of him – nice that he hadn't showered since morning. It let Chuck's true sweetness shine through. Bar pickups were always fresh out of the shower, not that he'd leave with them otherwise. The taste of soap was nobody's friend, whereas Chuck's cock was the food of the gods. John loved cock, and never more so than now. He could never get enough of this. The smooth, heavy head slid over his tongue, letting him mouth the curve of the shaft and pulse of its veins. And Chuck wasn't holding back – he was picking up speed.

His long fingers nudged between John's at the top rail. They were fucking holding hands while his surprise one-timer shoved cock down his throat. John got off on being used. So? Lots of people had their kinks. But it felt better with a set of fingers interlaced with his own, to have someone who knew where he was and who cared about it, too. He could feel Chuck right there with him, not somewhere else. It was . . . strange.

John gratefully swallowed every inch. He knew how that worked.

A firm set of balls slapped him under the chin as he fought to control his breathing. They began to pull up high and hard, and Chuck's moans beat at the dull conditioned air like wings. John's own noises burst out, sloppy and uncontrollable.

He was high and hard himself, his untouched piece pulled tight under black silk, so full and throbbing it was all he could do to stay right there. He was on the line. One side was the endless pressure, the need, where nothing else was important and the world faded away. The other side was orgasm, where reality went up in a mushroom cloud, but the joy ride was over. He would hold the line like Chuck used his mouth, as long and hard as he could.

\-- and that was the thing that almost broke him. It was guileless, honorable Chuck fucking his mouth. Chuck, who'd be shocked that he couldn't stop pushing too hard, too fast, too deep. John had brought down the citadel. He strained forward as far as his arms would let him and angled his head. Chuck's rhythm was thrilling him, making him dizzy, cutting off his breath; the feel and taste of hard cock made his eyes water, his mouth water, sloppier and noisier and he was going to, going to --

When Chuck came, shouting, "John, oh, Christ, oh!" . . . he somehow managed to keep it together, swallowing greedily, but Chuck pulled away, his come hitting John's face, dripping from his lips. God. If he hadn't been tied, he'd have doubled over right then and shot himself dry. As it was, the spasm of pleasure almost hurt. He was panting and gasping for lost air and had Chuck wrapped around him like a tortilla, and he'd bought himself more time.

There was stirring and slurring at his chest, Chuck's hair tickling his flushed skin. "John, you're so, that was so hot. Crazy hot. I never. Nobody ever, not like that." Chuck really was an alien. He was crawling up, dropping small alien kisses on John's temple, kissing the come off a cheekbone, brushing the sticky hair away from his forehead, homing in to the corner of John's mouth. Licking himself off John's lips.

A small, needy noise worked its way out of John's throat.

"Hey, are you okay?" A hand kneaded up his arm. There was a small bedquake at his side and two hands were easing blood back up to his wrists. It felt so good he groaned. His cock almost cried, it was that good. "Do you want me to – "

"No." If he got loose, he'd be duty-bound to walk out of here. No fucking way.

Chuck eyed him, decided he was serious. "You're crazy, although I kind of like that in you."

That simple, stupid acceptance turned him inside out. But Chuck didn't give him any time to worry about it.

"I want to suck you."

Blood pulsed in his cock. It jerked so hard he thought he was coming _now_. He was burning up from the inside out. Those moves on the bed turned his damp silk shorts into a noose; they were the only thing that kept him from coming before now. "No!" Shit. Chuck wouldn't leave him wanting, but nobody cared after the shouting was over. This shouldn't have happened, and when Chuck understood what he was messing with, he wouldn't want it to again.

Even Sarah would seem easy compared to him. She didn't need anything.

With anybody else, it wouldn't matter. He'd be happy enough to get off and go home. With anybody else, he wouldn't almost pop it from a faceful of dick and a couple kisses.

"Why?" Chuck obviously couldn't believe a sane man would turn that down. Maybe he was right.

John drew the incense of sweat and sex deep into his lungs and gestured with his chin. "Get real. I'm so on edge, a humid breeze could end this."

"Hey, I thought you were the guy cuffed to the bed. So much for power exchange," Chuck mourned, shaking his head sadly.

John stared at him in amazement. "The fuck, were you reading up, or what?"

"Uh, maybe?"

Everything he could see of Chuck went red, and he laughed. Laughing didn't happen much anyway, and he was pretty sure he'd never cracked a smile with his hands tied up and his dick tied down. Novelty. The sheer-curtained sun lit Chuck's grin, upping the wattage – as if it needed extra. He blinked against the brightness. "You like it."

"I . . . yeah. I like it." Now Chuck was embarrassed. Like it wasn't okay.

It made him want to do . . . anything. Anything Chuck wanted. Whatever would put that smile back on his face. It was Chuck's fucking super-power. Chuck could get John to do anything and make him like it. "Do it," he said softly. "Do whatever you want to. That's what we're here for."

Oh, Christ. He didn't just say that. There was one other line in his sex life, and this was it. This one was wider, blacker, and more important than any orgasm. It was a line no one crossed. This line divided the space where he let people tie him up and do things to his body, and . . . everything else.

John had just invited Chuck in. He hadn't come right out and said so, but by the look in those big eyes, Chuck knew it. Was he fucking insane? No, not totally; he hadn't _meant_ to say that. It just came out. And he just scared the shit out of himself.

Chuck palmed his jaw and kissed him softly with those full lips. "I want everything."

Yeah, that was what he was really, really afraid of. "Fuck."

"That, too."

Chuck played with his cock like it was a new toy. He worked the skin along the shaft, tasted precome with the tip of his tongue, rolled the weight of John's balls in his palm. "You are one big mother. Powerful. So strong. So beautiful. Easy, John, you can do this, it's okay." Spread his legs, traced a curious fingertip up and down the crease of his ass. Rubbed spit-wet circles around his asshole. Licked a line up the big vein, stroked his belly, sucked his nipples. "The six-pack on you, wow!"

Chuck did everything except . . . enough to send him over.

All the while, John was going to hell in a handbasket. Only Chuck's voice helped him hold on. "I love to see you like this, it's hot, you're so damned hot, it feels so good to make you feel good." Every caress made John shudder. "What did Carina do?"

There was enough touch to make his hips rise under Chuck's hands, but no rhyme or rhythm. He was barely aware of his own keening. He rolled from side to side and humped the air, but he couldn't get enough. "Wha – what?" Ripples of sensation scorched him all over. Sweat stung his eyes.

"What'd you go back for?"

" . . . fucked me."

"Like this?"

He couldn't concentrate when the circle of Chuck's fingers was sliding down so very, very lightly from the crown to the base.

"John, did she sit on you and, and -- fuck you?"

He shook his head before he remembered how to speak. "Dildo."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to give you the real thing." The low voice in his ear cut through the bombardment of all his other senses. "I'm going to hold you down and fuck you until you can't walk or talk."

He didn't get the blowjob. All it took was a few pretty words.

John was fairly sure he screamed out his orgasm. It sure as hell screamed out of him. He could hear the hoarse wreck of his own voice, yelling things even he couldn't understand. There weren't any lines any more. He couldn't feel his body; there was . . . everything, and nothing, all mixed together. The whole world was made of the dancing colors behind his eyelids.

Chuck held him, stroked him, kissed him through it.

He was still limp and breathing hard when Chuck adjusted his wrists on the brass crossbar, pushing them closer together. He shoved a couple more pillows under John's back, not getting much cooperation. When Chuck finally had him arranged on his side according to some mysterious specifications, he began to kiss along the exposed shoulder, grazing it with his teeth, leaving chills behind as he skimmed John's skin. By the time he reached John's ass, John had already shifted his top leg into position.

"Lots," he said succinctly as Chuck covered his fingers with lube. "Been a while." But Chuck was already smearing plenty, cold and electric, against his hole. Either Chuck and Bryce had been a lot closer than intel allowed, or he'd been spending lots of time with the BelAmi twinks. It had been so long that the first finger made John's breath catch. The second pulled him into a full body clench, even though he expected it. Wanted it.

Oh, god, yes, and _there_. _There_. He fucked himself on Chuck's fingers, the cuffs singing against the rail.

 _God._

Chuck's husky voice hooked John's attention despite the havoc he was creating. "Tell me . . . you want it. Tell me you want me to fuck you."

John didn't say anything.

He couldn't. There was never a time he said anything like that out loud. He couldn't even allow that inside his own head. The handful of times this -- no, not this, nothing was ever like this -- the times he had rough sex or got tied up, he never asked for anything. Never. For damn sure nobody asked what he wanted. He didn't want them to ask. He didn't want to talk about it. Except for Carina, he found them in bars or clubs. It was easy. He targeted the hunter; there was one in almost every crowd. Then he acted like a rabbit.

He was never wrong.

It never seemed to matter that he had forty pounds of muscle and four inches on any of the men. Way more height and weight over that petite blonde, and he carried her marks for two weeks. Hunters knew prey when they saw it. It didn't hurt that John looked sweet back then -- back when he couldn't control himself any better. He could pick and choose. He got smacked up pretty bad once, but it wasn't worse than a day at the office, and the man with the cruel, beautiful dark eyes got him off. Made him come like the shock wave of a sonic boom.

But he quit that shit. It was too dangerous.

He thought Chuck was just talking to talk, like he always did, but that magic hand slowed and then stopped. So did the pressure, the pulse of pleasure he wanted so badly. He cranked down with his hips. The hand pulled away.

"John?"

He sounded so concerned. John's unexpected rush of shame left him burning and pathetic, the same way it had the very first time. He shouldn't need this, shouldn't even want it; he was supposed to be the strong one. He was supposed to be the goddamn hero, parachuting in for God and country. He sure as hell shouldn't have a nice kid like Chuck worried over fucking him.

"Uh, you're handcuffed to the bed. I, I don't think I can -- I need you to tell me."

He sounded so young, even though he wasn't. John was a well-honed killing machine by twenty-eight. Chuck was still so young he wanted to hear the words. John couldn't say them. He wasn't going to get what he needed. Oh, Christ. Everything had been so good, would've been so good. He could've made it on his own for a long time with this one, with Chuck.

Whatever Chuck saw on his face when he leaned over . . . "I'll, oh, God, don't move, I'll get the key."

He needed it. He needed it bad enough. Chuck was fumbling the key off the desk by the time he got the word out. "Wait." Only one syllable, and it sounded as battered as John felt. All he needed now was the other word. And there it was, clawing to get back down his throat. He forced it out. "Please."

"Huh?" Chuck turned, wide-eyed, and John knew Chuck could see his desperation.

"Please." He tried to breathe through the swell of panic. "Fuck me."

"What's – "

"Not now." He'd never been reduced to begging for anything. Not for water, not for food, not for them to put the knife away. He was begging now.

Chuck cleared the distance in two strides, falling to one knee on the bed before somehow getting both arms around John and covering him like a human tarp. His arms wrenched against the cuffs, but that was the least of his problems. His fucked-up head led the pack.

"John." Honey, baby, sweetheart, he didn't say, but John heard those, and more. They were all bound up in his name. "Whatever it is, it's okay. I promise."

"Fuck me. Please. Please." Every time he said it, it tasted less bitter, because he knew what it would do for him. It would get him Chuck. Ask and receive.

It took some scrambling for logistics, and then Chuck wanted to use his fingers again. "No. Now." As he arched into the burn, John didn't know what to feel, but that didn't last long. Chuck's cock was searing away his panic, dissipating it like fog. It was a long, slow ride, with Chuck breathing endearments against his neck that could have been confused with senseless babble, only John knew better now. They kissed, long, opium kisses that dissolved the last of John's resistance.

He should never have bothered; resistance was futile. He just didn't know it then. It would've saved him a lot of trouble. The resistance was all gone in Carina's anonymous hotel room, with the fuck-drenched air and the warm bed, as Chuck protected John from himself.

"You should know," he said after. They were facing each other on the bed, not touching and not quite apart. The setting sun through the smog cast the room in a bilious pink, the cotton candy monster that ate Los Angeles. Pink was supposed to soothe people. It didn't soothe him any. He'd come longer and harder than he had in years, and it still wasn't enough. He'd spilled his guts all over the ground, and there was more.

Chuck just looked at him solemnly and touched John's cheek with the tips of his fingers. He'd already massaged the soreness from John's arms, after he coaxed the orgasm from his trembling body.

"I know everything I need to."

Chuck was willing to give trust for nothing. He wasn't even asking for promises never meant to be kept. Instead, he was giving them. The man didn't have an ounce of survival instinct. "Don't be so sure." Fine time for Chuck to give up digging, just when he really needed to. "Was a long time ago. I was a kid, younger than you. SERE training, anti-interrogation. They can – it's intense. They can't break bones, but they can mess with your head. It's bad shit."

"I'm listening." Chuck pulled John's leg over his own. The connection made some of the anxiety fade. "What happened?"

"Fake interrogation. I was tied to a chair, they were slapping me around. I got hard."

"Ow."

"Yeah, and it wouldn't have been so bad if I had clothes on. They had a lot of fun with that." He couldn't tell Chuck they tormented him until he cried out and came all over himself. Even John didn't want to know that, except there wasn't enough Scotch in the world. Some nights, he'd tried. "One of the guys came to my cell that night. He said it happened a lot. He kissed my bruises and fucked me blind."

No shock, or at least nothing showing in that expressive face. Chuck must've spent a long-ass time in therapy, watching the therapist not react, to be able to do that. Usually John could read everything that went through his head with a glance.

"Was that – can they do that?" There it was. Chuck was aghast.

"You mean, was it regs? Must've been." He could feel the sneer distort his features. "He didn't ask, and I didn't tell."

There was no response to his sarcasm, just a deep breath through parted lips. "I'm sorry."

"I liked it. He came back every night. I needed it." He brushed a few of Chuck's overgrown curls back behind an ear. "It got me through. I just . . . you should know how fucked up I am."

Long, slow inhale. "Do you want me to . . . do things like that?" Chuck probably had John's collarbone memorized by now. "Hurt you?"

"No." He wasn't entirely sure that was true. Maybe Chuck was more perceptive than John thought. And smarter -- he hadn't quite given up digging, after all. "But if you were ever willing, I wouldn't mind playing pretend."

"Good soldier and bad guy? Role play?" Chuck had a frame of reference for that. He even smiled a little. "You can get me some cool scary gear." Like the Castle wasn’t filled to the ceiling with it. Then he looked serious again. “Will you tie me up?"

"Sure." John rolled his eyes. "Right after I buy the velvet ropes. Hell if I'd use handcuffs on you. They hurt like a bitch." He lifted his shadow-ringed left wrist from Chuck's shoulder and examined it. He'd have to wear wrist guards at work for a few days. Jesus, to be happy about the existence of carpal tunnel problems. "Why would you want that? It's . . . " _Wrong. Twisted._

And almost unbearably appealing. Now he'd never be able to erase the image of Chuck, tied with something soft, face rapt as John brought him off over and over. Maybe he could tuck the SERE memories behind that and never have to see them again.

"I want to know how it is for you."

This was how it was. John dumped his dirty little secrets like so much long-fermented shit on the bed between them, and Chuck gathered them in without judgment, like they were normal, everyday things. Like they were things that belonged to someone decent, things that didn't dim the light in Chuck's eyes. It wasn't hero worship after all. It was something John had never seen in anybody else, hadn't even recognized until now.

It was something he wanted, and at forty-five, John finally understood what he’d been looking for.

He kissed that irresistible mouth, which wasn't quite as alien as it used to be. If he couldn't rationalize this – and he thought he could, if Sarah didn’t shoot him first – there were contractors doing good work for the American people who wouldn't give a rat's ass who he was sleeping with. A couple jobs a year would be enough. If he couldn't bear the separation, Beckman would find him a desk. Chuck liked L.A., but he'd probably like D.C., too. If nothing else, he could fly the top brass around the country in a Gulf Stream for a living. He could protect Chuck better by moving in than any other way.

At this point, he might as well say it. "I'll do anything you want."

And like it.

With Chuck half on top of him, a million degrees and snuffling a little in his sleep, John thought he could like it for a long time.


End file.
